


Adding Up The Things You'll Never Be

by NorthOfSomewhere



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 07:39:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19313644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthOfSomewhere/pseuds/NorthOfSomewhere
Summary: Everything changes, nothing stays the same. Ivan's relationship seems to be unraveling.





	Adding Up The Things You'll Never Be

**Author's Note:**

> I still suck at summaries. This was originally on ff.net, but I'm slowly moving all my stuff to this site. This was supposed to have more, but whenever I try to write a second chapter to anything it feels like it's not good enough.

  


_ 'sometimes the TV is like a lover _ _  
_ __

_ singing softly as you fall asleep _ _  
_

_ you wake up in the morning and it's still there _ __  
__  
_ adding up the things you'll never be' _ __  
__  
_  Heart - Stars _ __  
__  
  


* * *

 

  
Everything is white.   
  
Ivan watches as Alfred's breath curls from his lips like chimney smoke, pale plumes rising, before being chased away, the wind's sharp teeth close at it's heels.    
  
Ivan laughs without meaning to, an abrupt exhalation, when he remembers how he and Natalia used to pretend they were smoking when it got cold enough to see their breath in the air. They giggled while Katyusha, with no real force, told them to stop. It only ever made them laugh harder until their stomachs hurt and Kat would always join in too. She used to say they looked like twins when they laughed, they would both close their eyes and cover their mouths with their scarves.   
  
Nostalgia surrounds him in a cloud. He feels intensely homesick. He wants to make his way home, across the country, and walk in the front door as if years had not passed. As if it were still there. He can almost imagine the smell of his mom's chicken soup wafting from the kitchen to fill the whole house. There is nothing to go back to. What he really misses is being a child and that is lost to him. The days of homemade soup, forehead kisses from his mom, and making snow families (they sometimes used beets for noses instead of carrots) with his sisters after school are long gone.   
  
"What?" Alfred asks. The look on his face speaks volumes, it says he won't like whatever will come out of Ivan's mouth, it says he already regrets asking. He doesn't care about the answer and he wants Ivan to not say anything at all. It's so different from before and it has been so long that Ivan fears he may have imagined the way Alfred lit up when they locked eyes.    
  
_ 'What if he was always bored of me?' _   
  
Ivan misses the way they used to easily say words, how they would pour so prettily from their mouths long into the night, filling the darkness with questions and favorites and nonsense. Being tired was never an issue because they were together and that meant everything would be fine. Now when they open their mouths it's measured and clipped and every step is a misstep.    
  
Ivan schools his expression back to neutral as has become customary, shaking his head softly as he does.   
  
Alfred shrugs one shoulder, pretending at uncaring - but the brief tightening of his mouth means he's annoyed that Ivan wasted his time, and returns to looking at his phone with a barely audible sigh. He's upset, Ivan realizes, but he has no idea what he did wrong. Maybe Alfred wanted him to say something after all or maybe he would have reacted this way no matter what.   
  
Before he can think of anything to say he sees the bus turning the corner. It's probably for the best. He would have messed it up somehow.    
  
_ 'You ruin everything.' _ Alfred always tells him when they fight. He always says it surely, quietly. He never yells it. So it must be true and it confirms what Ivan already thought to be true.   
  
As the bus rumbles closer to their stop, Ivan feels a flash of wanting to step in front of it, of wanting to push Alfred in front of it. The moment passes as it slows to a halt in front of them with a hiss. The doors open and Ivan pauses to let Alfred get on first. It's apparently not the right move because Alfred's lips are now downturned and he shoves his phone in his coat pocket with a quick, harsh motion before stalking onto the bus, steps heavier than necessary.    
  
Not for the first time, Ivan thinks Alfred pouts like a child. He used to think it was cute.   
  
They sit next to each other, more out of habit than a want to be near one another. The ride is quiet and awkward as it so often is. Ivan leans against the window, the cold glass a comforting touch, watching the snow starting to fall outside. Alfred turns his attention back to his phone, fingers flying across the screen. His impatience bleeds into the air, the twenty minute ride seems to stretch into hours.    
  
Alfred stands hurriedly before the bus even begins to slow, it's his stop and Ivan still has a few more to go. "I'll be back late." He says. No excuses or apologies, just telling it like it is. He sounds distracted.   
  
It's such a little thing, but Ivan's heart breaks at that. It splinters into so many sharp shards and he's surprised because he didn't think it could do that anymore, thought he was frozen, but it was just something about the way Alfred said it. It felt like an ending. He feels like an idiot. It's not as if he actually spoke those words -  _ "We're over. We're through." _ They are one step closer to that point though. He can feel it.    
  
_ 'I hate you. Please don't leave me.' _   
  
Alfred won't be broken after. Alfred will be fine, happy even and so why is Ivan so caught off-guard, so unprepared by this turn of events when nothing's been going right for quite a long while and he should have *expected* this. So why does it *hurt* so much? It must show in his face, because Alfred stills, face softening. He lifts a hand as if to touch Ivan, before thinking twice and aborting the movement, letting his hand drop awkwardly to his side. His voice comes soft and slow, a sad drifting thing. "You don't need to wait up, Ivs, okay?" For just a second they're the only two on the bus, in the world. Then Alfred glances towards the front of the bus. They've stopped. "I have to go."   
  
Ivan quietly says goodbye (it doesn't feel like see you later even though it should be) as Alfred walks away. He doesn't hear it. And Ivan finds himself thinking that might be what he meant to do, maybe it was for himself.    
  
The rest of the ride is quiet. The bus is still quite crowded but Ivan has his seat to himself and he's never felt so alone. His mind wanders to unfortunate places, of long bus rides alone during high school, the time he'd asked Gilbert out on a date and Gilbert's laughter immediately afterwards, of the first time Alfred ever said hello, of smoke in his lungs and in his eyes and the air, of a high wailing siren that he doesn't realise is screaming until it's over.    
  
_ 'No, never that, stop thinking about it.' _   
  
He blinks away tears. The bus lurches to a halt.    
  
He steps into the cold, hair immediately damp with melting snowflakes.    
  
Everything is white.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
